holding fast

“Refuse to let the world corrupt you.”

~ James 1:27

1

“How in the world are you?” Dr. Robert A. Cook would say at the start of each one of his radio observations. Well, it takes an increasingly concerted effort to healthfully persevere, while remaining unfettered by ubiquitous and shrill newsmedia. One thing within my control is a proverbial off switch. It’s not easy, but it’s possible to be fairly informed while staying unfettered by the world. As “influencing” replaces reporting, so editorialists comment with declaratives about one another, instead of treating the topics of the times. For those that engage the challenge of stepping back or looking up from news feeds, how do we perceive the issues of the day manifesting albeit without social media infiltrating our thoughts? What is perceptible when our invasive devices are shut off? What remains for us to read in a reputable newspaper (assuming you can find one) that publishes multiple viewpoints, or hear from individuals in our municipalities, workplaces, on public transit? There’s inflation and intolerance; conflict and the narrowing of opportunities- all to be seen and heard, without overdramatized chat-shows to fuel anxieties and tell us what we apparently need. Alas, such things are one-way streets, preventing us from informing the tanned and toned actors about what they need. No doubt, there’s plenty to bring all of us down, but staying down doesn’t look advisable.

2

Pausing to think and write, the reminder arises that I mustn’t let the cultures of my living and working to reduce my universe into something small-minded. It is imperative to keep finding ways to spiritually push back. Thus, my questioning turns to my typically quixotic nature, wondering whether I still have a future worth my struggles. As a prompt for a recent journaling workshop I taught, my question to the class was to make a list of questions that burn holes through your thoughts- even waking you up at night. I dare say that most of us have at least a few. The list you make can join your own growing stock of self-made journaling prompts. What kind of future may I dare to expect? I’ve thought about this since childhood. But today we’re all forced to confront a hypersensitive and perfectionist world asserting that anyone exceeding thirty-five years of age is too irrelevant to be a valuable worker. Eventually, everyone will have to lean into that howling headwind and persevere while being extraordinarily productive and, would you believe it, relevant. Is there still a chance for life to improve?

The other day, while writing at a café on Boston’s Newbury Street, I saw many burgeoning graduates carrying their commencement caps and gowns- calling to mind how we all get some version of a ceremonial graduation speech to the effect of having a bright future ahead. Does that have an expiry date? What about the conflicting ratio of increasing accomplishments versus decreasing callbacks on applications? And that’s not to mention other discriminatory factors over which qualified and alacritous applicants have no control. Yet there is no giving up; why on earth would I ever do that, thus consenting to a status quo? Inevitably, my belief remains that I really do have a future that is worthwhile, appealing, and more open than the present (and surely the past). More accomplished is more to offer to benefit others. Perhaps seeing metaphor in too many ordinary things, the day-in-year-out commutes on broken walkways and odoriferous buses symbolize warnings against viewing and wearing life into toxic trenches instead of preferring beautiful aesthetics and fresh air. No doubt, my eagerness and drive remain for the redemption of my genuine and hardworked efforts. It’s an ache to see forbearance, muscle, and wit find fruition. Aspiration and endurance! Let us ask ourselves about what is fair to wish for, and let’s also see how brilliantly we can be unreasonable. It’s the juxtaposition of long-haul prayer and ambition.

3

Holding fast to a cultivated sense of vision demands sharp navigation through gauntlets, both broadly societal and narrowly corporate. But there are no matters too large or small for neither philosophical ethics nor for what my field calls professional best practices. Living often has the aspect of being an extemporaneous “laboratory” for the merging of theoretical and practical. Comprehending the virtue of hope- a confidence in limitless, Divine goodness- is cultivated, more felt than seen. Now the incremental arrival of spring, notably in a climate such as in New England, appears in rotations of senses amounting to hopes launching forward. Signs of the nascent season are arriving very late.

Recently from the courtyard at Beacon Hill Friends House, I heard the ecstatic full-throated sounds of birds. As with Chaucer’s pilgrims in the early seasonal rains of April, the physical indicators of nature are pulling everyone forward. Or perhaps pushing us all ahead. This is indeed the season exemplified by onward motion. Birds’ voices and green reaches of trees repudiate the naysayers of growth. The most poignant of the post-Easter liturgical readings are the paragraphs that chronicle the very human travellers in the depths of their misery while en route to Emmaus. It’s not one, but both companions (one corroborating the other) that had seen everything of their wishes destroyed. The essence of their shocking intervention was the vividly tangible demonstration (and both witnessed this) compelling them to not lose hope. There really was a persuasive return to life, and there were numerous additional eyewitnesses whose perspectives were worth a listen. On top of that, both these convinced sojourners told each other about how their hearts burned within them. They encountered enough to keep going. In my own instances, I’ve experienced enough resonance to not stop trying- to pray without ceasing, as the great Apostle emphasized. If anything, endeavor itself is fuel for the fire. Astonishingly, the flame within somehow endures. As sustenance, that knowledge is going to have to suffice for the most part, especially in the face of unrelentingly fickle employment markets. I’ll simply proceed as my own Dr. Cook of Briarcliff Manor, and tell myself to not give up. With scant few things as demoralizing as persistently foraging for professional opportunities, many of us have to dust ourselves off and keep working, always refining the pitch. That virtual inner Dr. Cook says to disregard the cynicisms and hold to the higher road of faith. Let the lengthened days of a renewing season present new promise.

from here

“A great thing is the soul:
in the soul, the whole world can be delineated.
The human soul is a microcosm of reality,
a microcosm of the macrocosm, an image of the world.”

~ Saint Bonaventure, Hexaemeron 22,24

The proverbial barrier raises yet another notch, as we all step onto the new year’s playing field. In these times, consolation and refuge become more difficult for too many to find. We’re hard put to conjure up our basic needs. Somehow able to hold ground and persevere, I’ve witnessed losses of stability at all hands. And yet- as I hear myself say- I’m here. The daily choice persists, to live compassionately, and to pursue this with every transaction and endeavor. Occasionally, exhaustion can punctuate all the constant hard work, and I stave it off with slices of downtime and a periodical retreat. Scruples and strength must operate in even strength. Last year, having the good fortune of finding and studying two of the final published works by Pope Francis, I was naturally inspired by the idea of a year of intentional pilgrimages. I’ve made these, anyway, over the years, but this time my emphases came from his suggestion to shape my life as an ongoing pilgrim of hope. Being a fulltime worker, I found ways to fit these travels into weekends- some extended with my earned-time-off. All the while, as usual, my studies stitch the days together: during bus commutes, with my thirty-minute lunches (still referred to as “scribbles and nibbles”), and at night. Through the past half-dozen years, I’ve reviewed all the published works of Josemaría Escrivá- indexing and annotating them. These “digests” make for great on-the-go reading, especially while commuting, and for redirecting my thoughts away from detriments that threaten and persist.

At the start of the Advent season last year, I travelled to Mount Saint Mary’s Abbey, in southeast Massachusetts, for a week of healthful respite and reflection. I returned there last month- now a friend of the community- concluding the year which encompassed another half-dozen locations of sacred pilgrimage. In another essay, I’ll enumerate them. For the moment, it suffices to mention the balance that became vital for me to strike between general cultural and employment tensions- countered with prayer in peaceful settings. We all need to survive and progress, persevering intact. In the pursuit of spiritual health and intellectual increase, all for the cause of fulfilling service, in the midst of turmoil I noticed a whiplash effect making it daunting to relax and refocus. Indeed, this isn’t a self-inflicted hardship at all. Much as with my conscious practice of re-directing pre-occupations, I’m better able to identify ideas and ruminations that are best left in roadside trash bins. I’ll even veer away from thinking about what it took to get away from the grind. With the simple gratitude of here I am, subsequent thoughts are returned to the immediate: Look at the view! or- It smells so nice here! Arrivals are made of curiosities and the childlike hopes of open ends. My many years of retreats have all been unstructured, without rigidity or agenda. I always bring reading, writing, and photo materials- along with a small radio. The purpose is unstructured respite. That biblical still, small voice is too often diverted by the shrill and incessant. If there’s one thing (and there are many things) pop culture cannot handle, it’s silence. Even gas station pumps blare audio and sound systems. And thus, there’s some unlearning to do, when arriving at a place of retreat. And that should be the extent of the do-ing.

Naturally, some form of routine can assist long-overdue decompression. Most of us are so ingrained with time that gets scheduled away from ourselves, that finding a way amidst minimal restriction poses its own peculiar conundrum. As it can happen, after plenty of first-day journal entries, by day 3 of my recent sojourn, I noticed myself looking for things to do. But I reminded myself that retreats are essentially in a different “time zone,” including liturgical days in monastic communities- surely dissimilar from the typical day-to-day. Something that deeply impressed me during my early and lengthy stretches at the Weston Priory is how days are as much wrapped around prayer as prayer is wrapped around the days. The adjustment from feeling there is “nothing to do,” becomes the “plenty” of easing into walks, writing, photographing, reading- all at slower paces- enjoying the company of those present, and devotions. Prayers manifest patiently focused and in silence. As well, there is the music of the community’s collective chant.

Before I took to the road, an older and wiser soul told me that “we are not what we think we are,“ but rather, “we are what we think.” This was said in the context of self-awareness and humility. I responded with, “we’re not even our own best judges!” Many of my thoughts en route to my week in Wrentham and since returning included making healthful realignments of obsolete notions- as I find them- in favor of calming and constructive thinking. Thoughts actually do matter. Journal-writing is as much personal documentation as it provides a forum for something of a “dialogue” between thinker and thought. For us writers, journaling is a lot of other things, especially when handwritten. When students ask about the “best way to write,” I always encourage them with, “just write true,” honesty always being the best policy. In doing so, and reading back what I write, there are surely learning processes.

In the spirit of neuroplasticity, I’ve become increasingly attuned to identifying and reckoning with negative and fatalistic thoughts. Adjusting to my circumstances does not mean imitating the toxicities that pervade nearly every sphere within reach. When I write about this in my journal, the idea is to try making sense of what I’m intuiting, witnessing, and absorbing- negotiating with the world and the workplace- all the while persevering in my pursuits of progress. At the heart of the adjusting is my insistence upon aspiration and improvement. Knowing and calibrating to self, situation, and vocation is to keep a balance of both limitations and ambitions in mind. Not compromising high standards, and in words from my profession- best practices, but instead resisting the mediocrity syndrome that too often prevails. Having studied, among other things, the notoriously astonishing Peter Principle in postgrad management theory sensitized me to recognize it in action all too frequently. Why perpetuate avoidable brands of passableness that we ourselves dislike from the barrel-end? How does that serve to inspire stewardship and the souls in our midst? Seeing the brevity of life and its very precariousness, it pains me to squander energy and time. Life is short. On that redirected thought, my navigational choice is to cultivate the mind, along with strengthening and guarding the soul. In his book called Furrow, Escrivá, provides some affirming words in his inimitable style:

We must not remain at the level of the mediocre, refusing to come to terms with mediocrity. We must enter all kinds of environments with a sure step. We’re called to be fully human in our actions, and at the same time reflecting the renewal of eternal things. That is why the apostle has to be a soul who has undergone a long, patient, and heroic process of formation.

A few days after the New Year’s holiday, washing dishes and listening to the radio, I heard the talk show host shift the discussion topic away from the interchangeable subjects known as societal miseries and politics. The affable Dan Rea, of Boston’s WBZ, asked listeners to ponder the prospect of the new year. He invited his audience to divert from editorializing, and to call in with their personal hopes for the coming year. It was easy to imagine Dan leaning into the microphone with his query, “Do you have any plans?” The large listening audience- made exponentially larger by virtue of being a nighttime AM broadcast- got to hear about travels, family reunions, going to ball games, graduating, and about the Tall Ships event in July. Now that’s some forward-looking. Hearing such a diversity of voices chiming in with their positive and lively aspirations was essentially what everyone needed. For all of you, my wish from here is for our hopes to exceed the movements of time.

time and a half

“Encourage one another daily,
as long as it is called ‘To-Day,’
keep each other on your toes
so that evil doesn’t slow down your reflexes.”

~ Hebrews 3:13


1

Something that has never been far from my thoughts, since it was said to me years ago: a wise colleague once told me that “hardships are inevitable, but misery is optional.” This fellow was a Capuchin Franciscan friar with a great deal of lived experience, insight, and a raucous sense of humor. His cultivated traits are now extremely rare, to the point of disturbing unpopularity. I like to think about those of us who are remembering cultivators, circulating throughout this desert of a world, persevering and providing encouragement. I hope you are practicing your own versions of similar attributes. From my furrow which has barely enough breadth for its requisite vigilance, the day-to-day is replete with anxious tentativeness. Thanks to journal-writing, there’s at least one place to deposit apprehensions about what may- or may not- be impending, as well as attempts at hopeful stabilization. Fortunately there are always other stories and observations to write about. Pursuits and projects provide many musings. I try parsing the hardships and miseries by taking metaphorical steps back to observe bigger pictures. Daily situations and their populating characters amount to plenty of material, particularly in workplaces. While I cannot predict the doings and misdoings with full prescience, I can surely predict that I will write about them. In the half-empty glass of instability, the glass is half-filled with potential improvement. Tenuousness has a dynamism.

Since stress is in abundant supply, why not make productive use of it? Conventional wisdom has come to positively embrace methods of recycling usable material that was typically discarded into unwieldy waste dumps. Buildings are now increasingly constructed with repurposed amalgams of “mass timber.” Why not find ways to mentally reconstitute negative millstones into constructive and spirited energy? My efforts at this are sharply put to the test. Awaiting a late bus on a frozen morning had me thinking about the stagnation of tension. This looks parallel to attempts at controlling factors that are frustratingly out-of-reach. This sort of tension makes for a counterproductive grip. That bus will show up, when it shows up. I reached the bus stop early, as usual, with sufficient funds on my transit card. I’ve heard from career counselors that my résumé is excellent and appealing- thus I’ll need the faith of a Metrobus passenger when it comes to all my networking and applications. One can do only so much, especially amidst these recessed times.

Overspreading the personal tensions is the tangible zeitgeist of economic fears. And so the pragmatism continues: stocktaking about what is good and wholesome, carrying on with gratitude, while keeping up the search. A critical byproduct of recycled tension is the maintaining of courage for pursuing dreams, insisting there is still time. Racing against the sands of time to finally find success often reminds me of overtime in competitive sports. True to existential angst, the term sudden death is applied to the extra time needed to settle a tie score- also known as a deadlock. Overtime is often brief, frenetic, and an intensified version of the general game. Ponder how an extra inning has the potential of a last lick or a walk-off. Real or perceived,, sports metaphors and social media notwithstanding, it’s detrimentally easy to strongly feel the shortage of time for hard-earned fulfillment. My hopes insist upon being set high.


2

During and immediately following my college years, I had a variety of jobs- some involving warehouse and conveyor-line work. When it came to situations demanding compounded productivity, or moving the merchandise along against abrupt deadlines, supervisors would single out the more diligent workers- I was always one of them- and would ask for needed overtime. “You’ll get time-and-a-half,” meaning that for those working beyond a shift’s obligations, the extra time would remunerate at 50% more than regular wage. Consequently, as operations extended into overtime, the selected crew would churn into whatever was needed to complete the work. During my first few years after undergrad, while beginning to repay my student loans, I held down a second job- working various graveyard shifts. A few of us hardy souls that desperately needed money would consent to the overtime temptation. We’d exchange glances and tell each other, Time-and-a-half!

An unsung great many of us are working intensely beyond the basics, sticking our necks out most of our waking hours, for many tightly-held and justifiable reasons. We hunger for success, for better days in better situations, to be respectfully recognized, and to arrive at stability. I believe everyone desires to be valued. But in this present era, are we only as worthwhile as we’re marketable? And how much of one’s humanness and productive compatibility can transmit for recruiters without a personal conversation, but merely through metadata? I’d like to think we’re each more than boxes checked, and that a good hire is a wise, transcendent investment. Many say that nobody finds jobs through uploaded applications anymore. As with the housing market, there have to be exceptions somewhere. Otherwise, it’s all through connections and grapevines- or inside networks. Application-tracking and various systems of analytics essentially shortchange all parties, closing gates still tighter and higher. Ironically, such barriers are prevalent in professions that prosper best with creative and eclectic professionals. AI and ML notwithstanding, still more barricades come in varying forms of prejudices which have nothing to do with skills, achievements, or integrity of character. An especially absurd obstacle for a willing applicant, albeit in these economic times, is the disregard of versatility. Being accomplished at many applicable skills is value-added; it’s useful, and potentially fulfilling for both employers and workers. Referring back to the sports world, players and their coaches extol exemplary team players that are “great to have in the clubhouse.” A positive culture cannot be built without this kind of spirit.


3

Some remember the expression: The pursuit of perfection is the enemy of goodness. In life-and-death situations, perfection has its place. Inevitably, most of us are serving, instructing, and answering to human beings- stewarding and even sanctifying the ordinary. Efficiency and conscientiousness may not need to be perfect. Perhaps attempts at being perfectly attentive and alacritous can scare others away. More appropriate would be a kind of perfect moderation, though- alas- such soft skills evade those counterproductive parsing upload utilities. Along with inconsistencies around versatility and perfection is how many refer to permanence. As our definitions for perfection are theoretical and subject to context, so might our interpretations of permanence. Expectation and reality rarely juxtapose. How do you define permanence? Something between the life of a product, and forever?

Perhaps as a grade-school pupil, you too were told by some pedagogical disciplinarian or other about a permanent record- some transcendent tally-sheet potentially preventing you from realizing your life’s dreams (or at least graduating from high school). It turned out the closest thing to permanent was the duration of the few years of threat to us adolescents. I remember a teen standup comedian at one of our school talent shows who made up a routine about being barred from disembarking from a transatlantic flight because the flight crew had been told he failed tenth grade French. “It was on my permanent record,” he comically wailed- and we all laughed. Years later and well into my intrepid career as an archivist, permanence hinges upon factors such as humidity, physical stability, and alkalinity. We use terms like enduring value, and digital preservation. Still, the duration of permanence remains a challenge to predict. It also remains wise to keep fit and prepared for inevitable hardships, not just as a good steward of resources, but also as an always-aspiring worker seeking better, each day an extra inning.

enkindle

“One who wishes to advance toward wholeness
should, by meditation, awaken, sharpen, and direct the
sting of conscience; hold out, broaden, and turn back
the beam of intelligence; concentrate, feed and raise
aloft the little flame of wisdom.”

~ Saint Bonaventure, Love Enkindled

ideals and possibilities

“By judging the truth of things according to the divine measure,
we acquire wisdom; by embracing the supreme good,
we are liberated to enjoy and use the goods of creation
for the enrichment of human life.”

~ Zachary Hayes, O.F.M., The Hidden Center.

The lead quotation for this essay comes from a book written by a modern-day Franciscan, addressing Saint Bonaventure- a fellow Franciscan who lived in the 13th century. The consistency of insight to this reader is such that I have the impression of studying a philosophical writer reflecting upon his own esteemed ancestor. I read the sentence to my philosophy students, as an example of idealism- and good, lofty one, too: Acquire wisdom and improve the lives of others. Cultivate what is needed to practice the golden rule. We subsequently had a lively Socratic forum about such divisions of idealism as the subjective, the divine, the ontological, and the epistemological. These topics will be revisited in greater depth, seeing how strongly they’ve resonated with the group.

One of my colleagues added encouragement, having participated in my treatment about how happiness ("eudaemonia") is defined in philosophy, generating an enthusiastic discussion. “Keep doing these,” she added, “we all need this.” Admittedly, so do I. Perhaps the study of philosophy- or philosophizing, in itself- may be just a bit escapist? Well, that’s worth another group forum. For the moment, I’ll say it’s a combination of reckoning with the surrounding world, and consolation. All points lead to understanding, to making sense of perceptions. Beyond the abstraction of thought is the praxis of a physical sign. The illuminative and the literal riding in tandem, searching for signs. Spring began showing itself at least a month later than usual, in northern New England, with persistent cold temperatures clashing against lengthened daylight. Eager for new growth, both metaphorically and three-dimensionally, I have my camera close at hand to photograph what treasured signs can be found and savoured. Living to such ideals as Bonaventure’s, and the later Bergson’s “realization of what is yet to exist which will provide greater significance” relates well to the new promise of spring.

For a week of respite, my first in four months, I recently enjoyed a nourishing string of days in Boston. My studies at the Athenaeum were centered around encouragement and assurance, all penned by various theological thinkers. More philosophy for inspiration. I select the readings through bibliographies and lengthy catalogue searches, followed by submitting the requests several weeks before my arrival. Those e-mailed communications signify initial forward motions toward pilgrimage, choosing my direction immediately after having my time-off request delicately approved. As the swirls of preparation, packing, transportation, and logistics settled, the brilliance of great company and thoughtful studies emerged. A lingering thought occupying many musings was a suggestion to consider the possible as an antidote in the struggle against confining and incessant frustrations. What possibilities are available while swamped in recessed economics, undercapacity, and treadmill existence? Turning toward an ideal of possibilities brings me to the captivating word, potential. Convinced for many years of the underutilized potential for my skills and experience, my perseverance toward better days continues to be fueled by the prospect of future opportunities. Necessary components and energies are at the ready; but there needs to be a convinced and welcoming receiving end. Realized potential as an ideal is the stuff of daily and constant prayers, immersed in quotidian productivity and conscientious service. The magnitude and immediacy of responsibility eliminates the option of waiting around for the miraculous. But a state of readiness can still abide, seeking out the possible, despite the encroachment of negative limits.

While drafting this essay, and during my recent week of commuting, my reading included two new books by Pope Francis, one which included these words...

“Do not surrender to the night; remember that the first enemy to conquer is not outside: it is within you. Therefore, do not give space to bitter, obscure thoughts... Faith and hope go forward together.”
(Light in the Night, 2024)

...and the day after reading these sentences, I learned of his passing. Pope Francis wrote in gentle and direct tones, as a seasoned mentor. The surrender he wrote about refers to something familiar to me, and I absorb his exhortation as a warning against my habitual tendency toward immersing thoughts with impossibilities. Entirely unusual for his position, Pope Francis engaged with this world and its many humanitarian crises, sharply critical of injustice- yet his idealism remained solidly intact. As with Brother Roger of Taizé (whom I knew), living to a similar age, Pope Francis consistently wrote about hope. Both leaders approached the entirety of life as a pilgrimage of trust. Brother John, former prior of Weston Priory (whom I also knew), passed away last month at the age of 100. When an esteemed leader- especially an elder- passes from our lives, and we notice traits and turns-of-phrase attributable to them, we begin to realize a spiritual inheritance.

“In revealing the possibility of a life lived in the presence of God,” continued Zachary Hayes’ gloss of Saint Bonaventure, “it reveals what is in fact the original possibility of humanity, created from the beginning in the image of God.” We’re reminded that various possibilities are in our midst to be discovered, if the “big picture” isn’t lost, while struggling to create wider opportunities. During my recent studies at the Boston Athenaeum, I read the inspiring Life of God in the Soul of Man, written by Scotland’s Henry Scougal in 1677. His term for spirituality was the divine life, and his intention for the work was that his readers derive encouragement to stay the course through the challenges of hardship. His enjoinder to continue making progress in faith has the reminder that with wholehearted devotion, “we shall have all the saints on earth and all the angels in heaven” interceding for us. Readers are instructed to take heart, keep faith, and not be afraid. “Away with perplexing fears,” Scougal insisted, continuing with:

“We cannot excuse ourselves by the pretense of impossibility.”

... which is to say that we mustn’t be so quick to unquestioningly say “it can’t be done.” Indeed, we have yet more idealism, and I welcome strengthening words, relieved to discover such fine company. Studying written treasures is more than reason enough to travel. As I witness the passing of various visionary leaders that taught generations preceding and including mine, I’ve become increasingly aware of thinning ranks, in no less than these darkened times. Let us all consider our reception of torches passed into our hands, no matter our states of readiness. Many are already teaching others, unwittingly and by profession. There is little choice but to carry on. Now, how shall we find and flex our discovered possibilities?

looking forward

"The kingdom of heaven only costs as much as you have."
~ Saint Gregory

Between the completion of various projects, commitments, and the subsequent holiday weekends, I was able to take a few days away for a quiet retreat in December. Respite time has been extremely rare in the past four years, now generally known as the “covid era” (albeit with the first year being under quarantining orders). Laborers on pared-down staffs often became the surviving hands-on-deck in their respective places of work. I wrote about being among “the working wounded;” yet truly thankfully employed and bill-paying, but holding course while staving off the burnout in my midst. This pandemic era may be tailing off now, but economic and societal conditions have been permanently altered. Suffice it to say, many practical matters are simply too dissimilar to those of four years ago to be as reliable as they were. Try finding an actual hardcopy newspaper now (and when you do, notice how the price is exponentially higher). Notice how social interaction is much more electronic than in-person, how commerce is relegated to impersonal self-checkout, and how a “wallet” is now stored financial data. A “menu option” left the context of restaurant dining, and became a term of robotic telecommunication. As recently as four years ago, taking earned time off meant physically turning to a colleague and comparing calendars; it has since become cajoling and electronic wrangling. Much more than the rigors of earning the time, there are added equations in being able to use the time. The bar having been raised, it is necessary to jump higher with the changed rules of the game. Of course I can do this, and I must.

As the will makes for the way, I recently managed to negotiate for a very modest amount of respite and backup coverage. Eight months in the waiting, the worthwhile carrot at the end of the proverbial stick was a stretch of days for slivers of spiritual health, silence, and writing. Having very little time to plan, as well as to find coverage, I searched for a place that would make space for a pilgrim during this time of the year. An Advent intermission from the beaten track and the routines was what I needed, and a very kind invitation came from a Cistercian community in Massachusetts. Getting through the subsequent complexities related to springing forth for a short time, the more pleasant parts of preparation ensued.

As I’ve known for years, most any sojourn can be a pilgrimage; it needn’t involve great distance. Intention is basically all that is needed. For a pilgrim of trust, the purpose is to sanctify time and place for immersion in the sacred. In anticipation, I began to assemble trip necessities such as writing and reading material, clothing, camera, and some groceries to add to the guesthouse provisions. This was my first time both at Mount Saint Mary’s Abbey, and in southwestern Norfolk County, though I know the general region. My drive to Wrentham took about three hours on roads that traverse familiar New England terrain that comprises cities with repurposed mill buildings, farms, forests, and villages. The winding country road leading to the abbey slices through tall pines, and must be navigated slowly. Arriving to gentle greetings, I proceeded to the guesthouse and found an envelope on a lit end-table which welcomed me in cursive flourishes resembling the tones I’d heard moments before. Setting my satchel and duffel bag in my dormered room, I immediately and gratefully felt the quiet of the place, along with like the country air. Two of the community’s guest sisters and I spoke about the vitality of contemplative silence. We talked about how burnout endangers the souls of this culture’s understaffed overworked. We also made reference to weather alerts pertaining to an approaching storm. From there, we all prepared for vespers. Above all, being in late-December I was among kindred spirits in anticipation of the Advent.

Gradually settling into the old, familiar monastic rhythm, I immediately noticed how tightly-wound I’d been for too long. Equally old and familiar is the sense of reverse-inertia: slowing down to a halt needs quite a long runway. The soothing tones of sung liturgies harmonize with the natural landscape, helping to transit from stressful vigilance to receptivity. Even as the rainstorm arrived, the patter on the abbey church roof pronouncedly audible, the peaceful ambience of the place simply absorbed all sounds. During an evening service, the rain intensified into a backdrop for the readings, chanted psalms, and silent adoration. I later heard the continuum of pelting rain on the skylight immediately overhead in my little room.

The storm amounted to something similar to a hurricane, with torrential rain and 90mph winds persisting throughout the following day. I cannot remember ever seeing such hard rain. Looking from the guesthouse windows reminded me of driving through a carwash, but this went on for more than a day, eventually causing felled trees and a regional power outage. Along with the loss of electricity was the loss of heat, hot water, and backup generators. The abbey had to cancel services. We used plenty of candles in the guesthouse, dining on leftovers, still savouring the spirit of the community. Even considering the cold, dark night ahead, I did not try to make an early trip back to Maine; the storm was moving north, and I would’ve been contending with hazardous conditions all the way up. The best thing to do was to patiently wait out the weather. Inevitably the storm passed, yet the outage was predicted to last another day. Washing with cold water the following morning, and downing day-old tepid coffee from my thermos, I packed my car for the return in daylight. Before taking to the roads, I made sure to thank my hosts and to bask in the healthful silence of the unlit abbey church. While the retreat had to be shortened, there was plenty to cherish, such as an open-ended welcome to come back, some new friends, and the acquaintance with an oasis new to me. Driving between large branches and fallen trees, en route to highways and hot coffee, was that among other things I have hope itself.

the storm past; writing by candlelight

“Still will we trust, though earth seem dark and dreary,” William Burleigh composed more than a century ago; “Though rough and steep our pathway, worn and weary.” Indeed, I returned from a shortened sojourn, back to work and the search for better, holding fast to Advent light as night falls in the afternoons. A new year approaches. Perhaps a suitable excuse, as the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve may not automatically regenerate much more than a calendar. As the Battle for the Better continues, albeit via Advancement by Small Measures, I’m looking to the upcoming year with the usual ache for a good future. Fully aware of being in the thick of significant work, there’s every good reason to keep at it. Looking forward is the best thing I can possibly do. I needed at least a year and a half to write the housing-loss grief out of myself. Now it’s the forward gaze that indicates preparation for the granting of my most vigorous wishes. It isn’t really difficult to insist upon looking forward, with essentially so little left for which to look back. If anything at all, I’m looking forward to returning to the abbey in Wrentham during better weather. Grand things manifest because of humble things. While commenting about Psalms 13 and 14, Saint Augustine remarked that “Interior and unceasing prayer is the desire of the heart.” Essentially, one’s profoundest hopes are distilled into intentions of the spirit. He added, “The desire of your heart is itself your prayer.”

Reminiscent of my original profession and my most fluent language: photography, I find my reminders for the present. Practitioners of the craft like me can recall or point to studios, portfolios (effectively our resumés), projects, exhibitions, and tools of the trade. Far and away, the most important aspect is a cultivated sense of vision. This transcendent ingredient is also known as “the photographer’s eye.” Artistic vision, as I’ve found, can be applied to numerous types of work and facets of life- even the human imagination. As a working archivist and conservator for nearly 26 years, I’ve often envisioned completed results (and their remedies) ahead of time. But that doesn’t mean I can predict the events of the new year, as these involve much greater complexities than those of my sole efforts. Once again, and at the very least, I can put up my end of things, and I know enough to "forget those things which are behind, and reach forward to those things which are ahead, pressing toward the goal for the prize of the upward call*". Everything is in need of improvement; bring on the new year.

views from Saint Mary's Abbey, by ambient light only

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*Philippians, chapter 3